Little Miss Bossy
by dryswan79
Summary: DH era, Hermione has been captured and taken to Malfoy Manor - the others are still on the loose.
1. Chapter 1

_**DH era – Hermione has been captured by snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor where she is the sole prisoner. Ron and Harry are still on the loose.**_

Hermione was bored. She sat on the heap of straw and looked around the dungeon. It wasn't bad, as dungeons go, there were torches burning in the brackets so it wasn't pitch dark and as far as she could tell, there was no damp.

She worried about Ron and Harry, once they woke up and realised she had gone missing, what would they do? She hoped they wouldn't be stupid enough to try and get into the manor to break her out, but she wouldn't put it past them.

In a way, she felt relieved. After months of creeping around, exhausted from horcrux hunting and keeping all three of them safe, the thought that she had only a few days left to live was actually not all bad. She was, of course, disappointed – dying locked up in someone's cellar without having finished school or read all the books she'd ever hoped to read wasn't how she pictured her life ending.

"Well" she thought, rubbing the scar on her arm, a vestige of Bellatrix's last torture session "If I'm going to die, I may as well enjoy the time I have remaining."

In the distance, she heared Pettigrew unlock the door to the dungeons and shuffle down the stairs. He approached her, with his twitchy little walk, and slid the battered tin dish which contained her lunch towards her. She took one look at it and called him back.

"Uh. Excuse me? What is this supposed to be?"

"It's supposed to be your lunch."

"In that case, you can take it back where you came from. I'm not about to eat a crust of stale bread, mouldy cheese and rancid ham. Now, off with you. Scoot!"

A shocked Wormtail picked up the dish and retreated in disbelief.

Hermione rejected her dinner and the following day's breakfast, which consisted of cold and lumpy porridge and a cup of lukewarm, gritty coffee. As Pettigrew was leaving the cellar she called after him "Next time, would you mind bringing a second blanket? The one I have is more hole than blanket and it tends to get chilly in underground prison cells. And oil the hinges of that bloody door!"

By the third day, she was beginning to question the wisdom of turning up her nose at food (although she had accepted the glasses of water they brought).

She had noticed subtle differences in the dungeon's furnishings. There was now a table and chair, admittedly rather worn but still serviceable. The door opened and to her great surprise, Mr Malfoy, Senior, entered the dungeon carrying a tray with a large silver dome on it, a blue blanket over his arm. He carefully placed the tray on the table and placed the blanket on the straw pile, Hermione could tell he was seething – he was just as poor at hiding his moods as Draco.

Hermione sat at the table and stared at the tray. It held not only the silver dome but also a fine damask napkin, monogrammed silver cutlery and a small porcelain vase with a few freesias in it. She raised the dome and her mouth began to water at the sight of the food, wild rice and chicken in a creamy mushroom sauce. Once she had finished every last morsel she place her knife and fork on the plate and murmured "that was delicious", to her astonishment the plate disappeared to be replaced by a small glass dish of peach melba with fresh whipped cream ("not that instant spray stuff the muggles have" she observed to herself).

When Pettigrew was sent to fetch the tray back, Hermione asked "Would you kindly show me where I can clean my teeth and brush my hair?". Flustered, he led her to a bathroom on the ground floor of the mansion and, with a flick of his wand, conjured up a toothbrush, paste and a large hairbrush. He was still staring at her when she turned around and snapped "Do you mind?"

Once she had finished, the nervous wizard took her back to the dungeon. The heap of scratchy straw had gone, replaced by a single bed with sheets and the blue blanket. Someone had also sent down a comfortable leather armchair and a side table. A house elf suddenly entered the room carrying a mug of hot chocolate and a pair of warm pajamas, "Shall Tinkle turn down?" he asked. She nodded as the elf pulled back the bedsheet for her and turned to face the other way as she changed into her nightwear. Hermione climbed into the bed and the elf carefully tucked her in before disapparating with a snap.

She woke to the delicious aroma of a cooked breakfast wafting from under the silver dome on her dining table. Her clothes had been washed, dried and pressed and were neatly folded on a nightstand which had appeared while she had slept. Hermione was pleased with herself, her dungeon cell was comfortable now but there was still the problem of sheer boredom.

When Pettigrew came to retrieve her breakfast tray she requested that a selection of books be brough to her to while away the time. He was about to answer her when they heard a crash and a man's high pitch scream from above. Pettigrew's face took on a look of absolute terror and he scurried out of the room without a word.

Hermione judged it had been about an hour since his hurried exit when she had another and unexpected visitor – processing slowly down the stairs with Pettigrew a few paces behind him was Voldemort.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ah, the Mudblood Granger."

Hermione sighed impatiently "Can we just get over the whole Mudblood bit and skip to where you torture and kill me because I refuse to give you any useful information?"

Voldemort blinked. He hadn't expected to be confronted by a Witch With An Attitude. "I wasn't intending to kill you. You might be worth far more alive."

She snorted at his words "Seriously? Did you get that out the "How to Talk like a Bad Guy" book? Whether you kill me or not, you're still likely to end up with the same result. The Order will come here either try to spring me loose or to avenge me and how keen are the Malfoys to have one extra, ungrateful mouth to feed in the meantime? Hm?"

The Dark Lord was at a loss. He couldn't remember the last time he had been rendered completely speechless. Turning to his obsequious servant, he hissed "Bring her."

Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered "Oh honestly" as Pettigrew plucked at her sleeve. At wandpoint, she climbed the stairs, ignoring the death eaters lining the corridors.

"In!" snapped Voldemort, opening a door. "Not you!" he barked at Pettigrew, Bellatrix and the Malfoy men, slamming the door in their faces. Thus, Hermione found herself alone with him in the Malfoys' extensive library. She looked at Voldemort expectantly but when he remained silent, she sighed and stalked across to the fireplace, flopping down into one of the overstuffed armchairs and folding her arms.

She rubbed her forearm which had begun to ache again from where Bellatrix had scarred her.

"Look, Tom, not that it isn't nice to have a bit of daylight, but why am I here?"

"My name is not Tom" he replied savagely.

"He Who Must Not Be Named is too long winded, The Dark Lord is hideously over-dramatic and as for Voldemort? It's Tom or nothing."

"Fine!" he huffed.

Silence again.

"Lunch." Hermione said.

"What?"

"I said lunch." she repeated "I neither know nor care whether you eat but I'm absolutely famished." Standing up, she said "I trust I may return to my cell now?"

If only to act contrary to her wishes, Voldemort drew himself up and said "No you may not. If I say you will eat in the dining room, then in the dining room you shall eat."


	3. Chapter 3

Voldemort sat at the head of the table and stared at the girl at the other end. It wasn't easy to see her, given that the table was at least five metres long, heavy drapes at the window shut out most of the light and an ornate silver sculpture of wizardkind triumphing over the muggle world took up most of the table itself.

Hermione was amused by the turn of events and wondered how far she would be able to push her luck. The starter of salmon in aspic had been cleared away, she had finished the main course of roast beef and was starting on the strawberry pavlova dessert. "Bravender!" she shouted. The surly butler apparated into the room and bowed stiffly to her – it was clear that he did not appreciate having to answer to the upstart Gryffindor.

"Bravender, has this dining table any leaves?"

He was astonished at the question "It has many, yes."

"Excellent." She said. "Remove them."

"R-remove them?"

"Well, not right now obviously, I'm eating. But certainly before Tom and I sit down to dinner this evening. And you can open the curtains properly to let the light in and get rid of that pile of junk at the same time" Hermione said, pointing to the sculpture with her pastry fork.

The butler's face drained of all colour and he looked at Voldemort for instructions. Voldemort, however, was just as bewildered as Bravender.

"V-v-very well Miss."

"Oh, and when you speak to cook, please do congratulate him on the salmon. Delicious. The beef was perhaps a trifle overcooked. Otherwise, a very acceptable meal." Delicately wiping her mouth with the napkin, she rose "May we have tea in the library, do you think? Are you coming, Tom or do you intend to sit there until supper time?"

Involuntarily, Voldemort jumped to his feet. Catching the eye of the butler, he sneered superciliously and followed Hermione out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Voldemort's patience had officially run out "I am here, you know!"

"Hm?" replied Hermione, looking up from the book she was reading. "Did you say something?"

"Oh, not much." He grumbled "Although it is bad manners to read at the dinner table."

At least the girl had the good grace to look a little sheepish as she turned the corner of the page down.

"I apologise. What was it you were saying?"

He sighed impatiently "I was just saying that reducing the size of the table was a good idea."

"Thank you." Hermione yawned "Well, I'm worn out. I'll skip tea and head to the dungeon for some sleep, I think."

"You're not in the dungeon now. You have a bedroom." Without further ado, Voldemort led the girl out of the dining room and up the stairs.

"By the way, Tom, where do all the others eat their meals now?" she asked, following him.

"The kitchen."

Hermione laughed "I'm sure they must love that!"

"They'll do as they are instructed. But no, I'm sure they dislike the new arrangements." He smiled grimly.

"Here is your room." Hermione was ushered into a large chamber, with dark green walls, thick velvet curtains, also dark green, and solid mahogany furniture.

"Slytherin colours much? Absolutely not. I don't wish to sound ungrateful, but given the choice of the two, I think the colour scheme of the cellar is preferable."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes "Fine" he said, though gritted teeth. He pulled Hermione's wand out of a pocket of his robes and tapped it with his own before giving it to her. "The only spells it'll do are concerned with interior design."

Taking the wand from him, she began to walk around the room. By the time she had finished, the walls were a pale yellow, the curtains were a darker shade of yellow with small purple and blue flowers and the bare floorboards were covered with a thick carpet. With a swish of her wand, the furniture turned from dark mahogany to a warm walnut wood.

"That has to go too!" Hermione decided, pointing to the portrait of one of the Malfoys' female ancestors hanging over the fireplace. The witch gave a sqauwk of outrage as the painting was turned into an ornate framed mirror.

The Dark Lord sat on a chair by the empty fireplace, drumming his fingers on the arm and barely concealing his boredom as Hermione redecorated her rooms.

"Now, what are these doors?" she asked.

Voldemort wearily pointed to one "bathroom" and the other "wardrobe".

Hermione sighed at the sight of the bathroom "Green and black? Again?"

A few more minutes wand-work and gone was the black marble in the bathroom, the fittings were now a shining white porcelain and the tiles and accessories were shades of white, blue and aqua. The walk-in wardrobe she left much as it was – her only criticism was its emptiness.

Handing her wand back to Voldemort she asked "Would some new clothes be too much to ask? And when I say new, I mean new. None of Narcissa or Bellatrix's cast offs, got it?"

He left hurriedly before he could give in to the temptation to hex her. He didn't have much experience of Hermione but had gathered enough to know that making her angry would only be slightly less dangerous than poking a sleeping dragon in the eye with a sharp stick.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, they were sitting in the library. As soon as he had left her room the night before, Voldemort had sent followers to Diagon Alley to buy clothes to fill Hermione's wardrobe but in an effort to annoy him, she had elected to wear the muggle clothes she had been kidnapped in.

She was reading yet another book – Voldemort couldn't believe how quickly should could get through them, at this rate, she would have finished all the library books within a week – while he tried to keep a lid on his temper, playing wizard chess with a trembling death eater.

"Huzzah! Pip pip and tally ho!" cried Voldemort's knight as it moved to Queen's Pawn 4. The death eater quailed and squeaking "I forfeit!" ran from the room.

"You know, technically that's cheating." said Hermione mildly, without looking up from her book.

"What?" asked Voldemort impatiently.

"Using legilimency during a chess match."

He shrugged, thought for a moment, then said "I see you peversely cling on to your muggle attire. Your wardrobe and dressers are full, you know. I saw to it personally."

"Yes, yes, I'm very grateful." she said, not sounding grateful at all. Hermione sighed and closed the book on her lap. "Tom, why am I still here? I mean, why are you keeping me alive?"

"What do all my death eaters have in common?"

"They like to dress in black."

"No!" he paused "Alright, yes, but that's not the point I'm trying to make. My death eaters, every last one of them, are power hungry, sycophantic, cowardly..." Hermione raised her eyebrows as he continued to describe his followers in increasingly derogatory terms, teaching her some interesting adjectives in the process. "...fools" he ended, lamely.

"So, if I understand correctly, you're keeping me alive because you need someone to talk to?"

"That's about it, yes. And don't get any ideas about escaping. I spent a fortune at Madam Malkin's on you and you haven't deigned to wear even a stitch of your new clothes yet."

"You mean to say that at some time between ten last night and seven this morning, she kindly opened the boutique so you could gad about on a shopping spree?" She smiled "Well, I may not agree with your antiquated prejudices and your plans for world domination, but apart from that, conversations with you can actually be quite pleasant since you have a reasonable intellect."

"Thank you very much!" Voldemort cried, much affronted. "What's that you're doing?"

"A Sudoku."

"A what?" he asked, looking furious as though she had just hurled a volley of insults at him.

"It's a type of muggle logic problem." The death eaters had also been ordered to find something to keep Hermione occupied and one of them had a distant cousin who was a muggle tax inspector.

He came and looked over her shoulder. "It doesn't looked that difficult" he snorted.

Hermione handed him the book and a blue biro. He flicked through the pages until he found a Fiendishly Difficult puzzle. Looking down at her with a smug smile, he turned his attention to the page.

She had to conceal her amusement as his expression moved from smug to thoughtful to just plain frustrated.

He dropped the book in her lap and strode away muttering about stupid muggle logic problems.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione had found that none of the doors or windows to the outside would open for her but since the house itself was large, being confined to it was not too much of a hardship. On one of her wanderings around the ground floor rooms, she stumbled across what must have been a ballroom. The long room had mirrors along one wall, the opposite wall being large glass doors which opened onto the terrace at the back of the house. The furniture was all shrouded in dust covers but peeking under the sheets, Hermione came across a beautiful grand piano. She carefully pulled the sheet off and looked at the instrument.

"I bet it's locked." she thought. It wasn't. "I bet it's out of tune." she thought. It wasn't. She sifted through the stack of scores piled untidily on the piano lid until she found something within her range.

Voldemort was wandering the halls with nothing to do. He had decimated a faithless follower, consulted with a spy or two and had had another go at one of Hermione's puzzles (with no more success than the previous times he had tried), turning a corner, he heard the music.

"I didn't know you played." he remarked.

Sardonically, she replied "Apparently so" and continued practicing.

"Could you teach me?" asked Voldemort.

"Seriously?" Hermione asked, incredulously.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Would it be taking too much of your precious time away from, I don't know, reading yet another dusty old book, or maybe brushing your hair?"

Hermione glared at him "Irony does not become you, sir. Anyway, I doubt you have the patience."

-0-

She woke next morning when a house elf apparated into her bedroom with her usual cup of morning tea.

"Good morning Miss!" chirped the elf, cheerily chattering about the weather, the gossip from below stairs, the vulgar antics of the Parkinson family's house elves.

"Typical" though Hermione, who was definitely not a morning person "Trust me to get the talkative elf."

"And what's his Lordship up to this fine morning?" she asked, sipping her scalding hot tea.

"Well, Miss. He is apparently slaughtering three blind mice. Which is odd since we don't have any mice, all the anti-rodent wards are very effective and we have a kneazle just in case."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione decided to go and check for herself. Sure enough, the Dark Lord was hammering out a poor rendition of the simple tune. Looking up from the dusty keys, Voldemort found Hermione gazing wistfully out at the grounds of Malfoy Manor.

"It's such a shame" she said. "If only someone took the trouble to maintain the gardens."

Not even a week later gardeners had arrived to mow the lawns, tidy up flower beds and prune the roses. Hermione was delighted when she was finally permitted to take a walk outside and her favourite place soon became the antique rose garden with its worn stone benches and gentle perfumes.

Voldemort was infuriated when, for the third day running, Hermione was late to lunch. When he arrived at the rose garden, he stopped at the threshhold, his anger draining away. She was stretched out on one of the benches, having fallen asleep while reading. As he looked at her, there was a faint stirring in his heart, she had chosen robes in his favourite shade of deep purple, a gentle breeze ruffled her hair and he realised he hadn't seen anything so beautiful in years.

The mood was slightly spoiled when it began to rain. It started out as a gentle drizzle but by the time the pair of them arrived back out the house they were soaked and, the astonishment of the house staff and death eaters, laughing.

-o-

According to the carriage clock on the mantlepiece in her bedroom, it was past two in the morning when the house elf, Tinkle, popped into her room, wringing his hands.

"He's dying. The Dark Master is dying Miss."

Hermione jumped out of bed, flung on her dressing gown and followed the elf, this time to Voldemort's own room. Death eaters stood in small groups weeping quietly. Bellatrix was a sobbing heap on the floor.

The man himself was lying on his sofa, his hands folded on his chest, clutching his wand.

As Hermione stepped over the grief stricken Bellatrix, Voldemort smiled weakly up at her.

"You came." he croaked "I got to see you one last time. Thank you."

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"I can neither swallow, nor breathe. My bones are crumbling into dust and my brain atrophies."

Hermione narrowed her eyes "So you have a sore throat, a blocked nose, aching joints and a foggy head?"

"Indeed."

"Right, everyone out!" She shouted. The mourners all looked shocked but at a wave of Voldemort's hand they filed out in silence, although if looks could kill Hermione would have been felled on the spot by Bellatrix.

Hermione reached down and plucked the wand from Voldemort's grasp.

"Hey!" he cried, trying to snatch it back.

"Oh, don't be such a baby, Tom. I'll give it back."

With a swish and a flick, Hermione conjured up a large box of tissues and a small jar of ointment. She tucked the wand back into his hand and opened the jar. Unfastening the neck of his robes, she smeared some of the ointment on his chest.

"What is that?"

"It's a muggle concoction with extracts of eucalyptus and menthol. It'll help with your nose." She summoned a house elf "Bring him a large mug of hot water, with the juice of half a lemon and two heaped teaspoons of honey in it. Make sure he drinks it all."

She rose to her feet and turned to leave.

"Wait! Where are you going" cried Voldemort.

"I am going back to bed." She snapped "You, Tom Marvolo Riddle, have a cold and nothing more." She stormed out, leaving him to his sniffles.


	7. Chapter 7

After a difficult few days in which the household had to put up with a few days of a grumpy Voldemort and a Hermione showing him no sympathy whatsoever, peace began to reign again.

Hermione came down to breakfast one morning to find a bunch of flowers waiting for her.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Happy birthday." replied Voldemort.

The pair spent most of the day outside in the rose garden and house elves brought a large picnic hamper out to them for lunch. They were content to sit in silence, but Hermione's interest in history, in particular wizarding world, was such that many of their conversations ranged over the subject on which he was very knowledgeable. At one point, he remarked drily "That's one advantage of being a cranky old man."

"I wouldn't say that." replied Hermione "You're not always cranky."

He narrowed his eyes and flicked a grape at her.

They only returned to the house when the sun started to set in a beautiful orange and pink sky.

Voldemort excused himself to go and, as he put it "dress for dinner."

Hermione was intrigued, they never usually dressed up for their evening meals together, but let him go. She decided that she might spruce up her appearance as well and chose a gown from her wardrobe. It was one of her favourites, a sleeveless floor length ball gown in a pale rose pink.

By the time she had brushed and styled her hair and added a few hints of make up, she was nearly ten minutes late for dinner. She rushed down the stairs and into the drawing room where Voldemort was waiting for her.

Hermione gasped at his appearance. Rather than the long robes she was used to seeing him in, he had chosen muggle apparel, black trousers, black tailcoat, white shirt, waistcoat and bow tie.

After dinner, he took her to the ballroom and showed her his latest acquisition.

"A gramophone?" she asked.

Voldemort nodded and with a quick wand movement, music began to fill the room. Holding out his arms, he asked "do you dance?"

"Um. Not really." she admitted.

"Then allow me to teach you."

He seemed to Hermione to have sunk into a mood of increasing melancholy over the past few days. Concerned, she asked him if anything was amiss.

Voldemort looked sadly at her, hesitating at whether or not to reply. Making up his mind, he reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out her wand.

"Here. It's time I gave this back to you. You will need it."

Hermione looked up at him but he avoided her gaze. "Tom, please, tell me what's wrong. Have I done something to make you angry?"

He shook his head and walked to the window, resting his head on his arm as he looked out at the grounds, bathed in moonlight. Hermione followed him and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his shoulder. He placed a hand on hers and said "Tomorrow morning, Lucius will apparate with you to London or wherever else you may wish to go."

She took a step back and whispered "You're sending me away? Why?"

"It's complicated." he replied.

"Then uncomplicate it." she hissed.

He turned around, the look on his face drew tears to her eyes. "It's in everyone's best interests that you leave now, before it's too late."

"Too late? Too late for what? And in whose best interests? Yours or mine?" she demanded, tears beginning to course down her cheeks.

Voldemort struggled to regain his composure, took a deep breath and said coldly "I have made up my mind. You will leave tomorrow, without question." Without waiting for a reply, he swept out of the room and locked himself in his quarters.

Neither of them slept a wink all night and the following morning, she was informed that Voldemort had already left. She refused to believe the house elf and went searching for him, finding him in the library.

"You're poor at the whole hide and seek game." she said, closing the door and leaning up against it.

He let out a sigh which was almost a sob and crossed the room to her, pulling her into an almost crushing embrace. "It's alright Tom. Lucius is waiting in the hall for me, I'll be going in a minute but before I do -."

Voldemort placed a finger on her lips "Hermione, you deserve the truth. Do not mistake me, I haven't fallen in love with you but the longer you stay here, the more likely it is that I will do so. I feel the danger already. I thought I had hardened my heart against all such frail human feelings but I was wrong." Caressing her face, he said "My dearest girl, if I only we had met half a century ago, how different my life could have been."

She stretched up and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Know this. You are my friend and as such you will always have my love."

"Even if the next time we meet I am the monster everyone knows me to be?"

"Even then." she smiled. Tucking a small box into his hand, Hermione kissed him again and sadly left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Voldemort heard the distance sound of apparition and knew in that instant that she had gone forever. Sealing the doors and putting up a barrier of soundproofing, he sank to the floor and sobbed. It was hours later when he opened the box she had given him, it contained an engraved medallion. On one side was the inscription "Wherever you are" and on the other "You are always in my heart."

-o-

Hermione's friends had of course been delighted that she had been released from captivity and, after a few abortive efforts, ceased to ask questions, especially since they always resulted in floods of tears.


	8. Chapter 8

_**After the battle**_

When next she saw him, it was at Hogwarts, surrounded by his allies and fighting her friends. She had expected to feel repulsed by the sight of him but instead, she only grieved for what might have been.

After his death at Harry's hands, his body was carried to a small chamber off the Hall. While the room was strictly off limits, her request for admittance was granted. Alone in the room, she drew a chair up to the table on which he had been laid, took his hand in hers and wept.

Never again would her heart be completely whole.


End file.
